


burning heart

by Erina



Category: Persona 5
Genre: A couple broken limbs, Akechi Whump, Akira Whump, M/M, Post-Canon, Whump, no one has a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erina/pseuds/Erina
Summary: Akira lets out a huff of frustration and slams his fist against the rock. If only—If only he was still Joker.Joker would have been able to get out of this situation without a problem. Joker was cool and smart and powerful. He would’ve been able to summon dozens of Personas to blast the rock to pieces, or been perceptive enough to push Goro out of the way before the explosion even happened, or—In comparison, Akira is just… Akira.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 19
Kudos: 201





	burning heart

**Author's Note:**

> Ayooo baby's first p5 oneshot.  
> I don't think it's too bad, but tw for some broken limbs, injuries, blood, etc.
> 
> Big thank you to [lica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spanish_sahara) for betaing!

The rooftop restaurant features a beautiful view of nighttime Tokyo, a sea of sparkling and dazzling lights illuminating the city on that evening. Soothing music wafts through the speakers, setting a calm and melancholic backdrop as the waiters bustle around, the aroma of delicious and expensive cuisine floating through the air before dissipating into the night sky.

Akira Kurusu does not notice any of it.

“What are you thinking about?” his companion asks. He’s wearing a dark red suit, slightly open to reveal a black dress shirt with the top few buttons popped open. It’s matching with Akira’s own black suit and crimson dress shirt, a set that Ann had forced them to try on together and then gushed about how cute they were.

Goro leans back in the chair, calloused and trained hands clasped properly in front of him. His posture is still rigid and slightly unnatural, but they’ve come a long way since the days when Goro would jump at any noise and lash out at anyone who got too close.

Akira can’t take his eyes off of him.

“You,” he answers honestly, propping his cheek up with his arm and laughing as Goro’s face goes through several different emotions over the span of a couple seconds before ultimately settling on impassiveness.

“Oh?” Goro intones emotionlessly, twirling his glass of water between his fingers.

“Yeah.” Akira takes a sip of his own glass, but the water is tasteless. The box inside his suit pocket burns a hole into the fabric, even heavier than when he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Just thinking that it’s been awhile since we met.”

“Around five years.” Goro scowls when Akira’s hands migrate over, but doesn’t protest when he links their pinkies together. “Three since the Metaverse disappeared.”

Akira remembers it as if it were yesterday. The app vanishing from his phone, the weight of the flashy mask on his face replaced by simple and commonplace glasses.

He hadn’t noticed it too much at first, too busy on his pursuit to find his rival once more. But once they had reunited, once he had wrestled Goro into staying with him, the lack of the Metaverse carved a gaping hole in his heart that still aches to this day.

“Do you miss it?” The question is out of his mouth before he’s even thought about it and he wishes he could take it back. It’s a topic that he tries to steer clear of with the other Phantom Thieves, afraid of reopening old wounds that cannot be healed with the non-supernatural medicine that this mundane and ordinary world offers.

Goro’s eyebrows shoots up, and he takes his time deliberating the question. “I suppose it made me feel special, being granted a power that few others had. And there’s nothing quite like killing Shadows.” He taps his chin with a single finger. “But I associate that period with the worst years of my life. So despite it all, I don’t think I do.”

Akira feels his heart sink. Goro still has episodes sometimes when Shido is brought up, clawing at his face in a frantic effort to peel away any skin that reminds him of his father. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Do you?” Goro cuts in, crimson eyes boring into his own.

He does. He keeps a box of lock picks underneath the bed for him to fiddle around with when he’s feeling too stressed, fingers fumbling around with materials he once wielded easily.

His friends had all moved on with their lives, changing schools, towns, and even continents. Their group chat is still active, various anecdotes thrown around, but a part of him still yearns to be able to summon them all to the hideout with a single message, for all of them to be united around a common cause. For them to go into the Metaverse where he can act as their leader, calling out commands and jumping in when things get rough.

He’s glad that they all moved on with their lives. Ann is modeling in Europe. Ryuji has become a PE instructor in northern Japan. Even Futaba has moved out, going to university all by herself. Everyone has grown so much.

Sometimes, he feels like he’s the only one still clinging to the past.

“No,” Akira lies. Goro raises an eyebrow, and Akira quickly continues before Goro can perform a deep psychoanalysis on him. “It was fun, sure. But now everyone’s doing great and I get to spend my days with you without worrying about you going away again. It’s amazing.”

“Akira,” Goro starts, and Akira tips his entire glass of water back in an effort to stop the conversation. It works because he spills half of it on his sleeve and Goro’s look of utter disappointment is enough to send him into a laughing fit, and the conversation is promptly forgotten.

When he’s calmed down, Goro is dabbing the table in front of him with a napkin, muttering expletives about Akira under his breath. Akira watches him quietly and feels his heart swell up with an overwhelming love, a feeling that first appeared when Goro manifested in front of him again after they broke out of Maruki’s false reality and hasn’t wavered ever since.

Akira kisses him every day, but it still isn’t enough. Akira holds his hand every day, but it still isn’t enough. Akira watches him go to sleep next to him every day, but it still isn’t enough.

It’s never enough.

His fingers migrate into his pocket where they wrap around a tiny little box. Ann had flown back all the way from Europe to go shopping with him and Futaba, gushing all the way to the store.

_“Black amber? Really?” Futaba wrinkled her nose, looking down at the ring Akira had picked out. “Don’t you want something flashier?”_

_“I think it’s pretty!” Ann chimed in. She seemed more excited about the whole ordeal than even Akira was. “And it matches the Joker and Black Mask color scheme well, you know?”_

_“But it’ll go like, kaboom.” Futaba rolled her eyes. “With how bad Akechi is at cooking, are you sure it’s a good idea to give him a flammable ring?”_

_“It’s not like he sticks his entire hand into the fire,” Akira muttered petulantly._

_“Okay, fine.” Obviously not caring enough about the subject to continue, Futaba smirks at him. “Anyway, how are you going to do it? Slip it into his drink?”_

_“I was thinking about pretending it was hidden behind his ear, actually—”_

_“Oh my god! No, you can’t do that!”_

_“Do you think he’s five? He’ll dump you because of that.”_

Shaking himself out of his memories, he quietly pries the box open and feels for the smooth texture of the ring. Ann and Futaba had dumped dozens of ideas on him after that, each one more ridiculous than the last, and Akira decides that he will just get on one knee and ask the question.

If Goro is going to say no, no amount of pandering or flashy tricks will change his mind.

Akira really hopes he doesn’t say no.

“Akira,” Goro says, and Akira jumps and shuts the box again instinctively. Goro is staring somewhere behind Akira with a strange look. “This place was your choice. Is it normally this empty on Valentine’s Day?”

The restaurant does look rather empty. Other than a few waiters bustling around behind the kitchen doors, there doesn’t seem to be anyone else in the restaurant. “That’s weird. Want me to go ask—”

He’s in the middle of his sentence when there’s the sound of a loud explosion, followed by several other small ones. The last thing he sees is Goro’s eyes wide in alarm, arm outstretched, before the whole world goes dark around him.

* * *

Akira wakes up with his head pounding. It feels weird. Rather than the hangover he always feels after nights he and Goro have drinking competitions, it feels more like someone took a hammer and smashed it against his head.

The smell of smoke wafts into his nose and he sneezes. There’s the feeling of some sort of liquid dripping down his arm. Blood? Nah, it can’t be. He’s at home, snuggling against Goro, thinking about—

Akira’s eyes pop open and he scrambles to his feet.

The restaurant looks like a warzone. The fancy and elegant carpet is now smudged with soot, the corners of it still burning. The beautifully arranged dining tables have been blown back, collapsed on the ground in a pile of metal.

“Goro?” Akira calls out frantically when he doesn’t see his boyfriend anywhere. “ _Goro?!_ ”

“-ere,” he hears a wheeze. Akira takes off, scrambling over the rubble lining the ground, eyes desperately looking around for any sign of life, any sign of Goro, any sign that he’s _okay_ —

Akira stares.

Goro’s lying on the ground, a sheen of sweat outlining his forehead. His red suit is ripped, the sleeves singed. He’s trying to pull himself upright.

There’s a piece of rubble on his left leg pinning him down, and a puddle of blood below it.

“Goro!” Akira yells, grasping at the chunk of the ceiling that is bearing its entire weight down on Goro’s leg. It doesn’t budge. “Are you okay?!”

“What do you think?” Goro asks, but his voice lacks bite. His face looks paler than Akira has ever seen, and there’s a feeling of dread quickly rising that Akira does his best to push down.

“Just hold still, okay?” he grips the rubble at various angles, wiggles it around, tries _anything_ to get it to move. “I-I’ll get you out of there.”

“Akira,” Goro says quietly. “You should go ahead first. I’ll catch up.”

Akira stares at him. “W-what are you saying?” he lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re kidding, right?” When Goro doesn’t say anything—just continues to watch him silently—he feels his fear replaced by anger. “How could you say that? I’m not going to leave you here! Why do you think I’m going to _abandon_ you—”

“This isn’t about you, Akira,” Goro says crossly. He’s reaching for something. Akira realizes with a dawning horror that one of the kitchen knives must have been blasted over in the explosion. “Fine. Then move aside so I can cut my leg off. Then we can go.”

“No!” Akira lunges for the knife and tries to pry it out of Goro’s hands. “P-please. Just give me some time. There’s no need to do that.”

Goro glances pointedly at the fire burning in the kitchen. “You get a minute,” he says.

Akira nods frantically and circles around the rubble. But despite his overwhelming desire to move it, despite the adrenaline pumping through his body, the rock doesn’t even budge.

He lets out a huff of frustration and slams his fist against the rock. If only—

If only he was still _Joker_.

Joker would have been able to get out of this situation without a problem. Joker was cool and smart and powerful. He would’ve been able to summon dozens of Personas to blast the rock to pieces, or been perceptive enough to push Goro out of the way before the explosion even happened, or—

In comparison, Akira is just… Akira.

“Ten seconds,” Goro calls out, his hands tightening on the handle of the knife. Akira quickly shakes himself out of his thoughts and grabs the top of a table that has been separated from its legs. Quickly stacking up some chairs messily, he places the table on top and climbs up.

 _Please work_ , he prays. _Please._

He throws his entire bodyweight down on the other end. And then he tumbles to the ground.

The tabletop snaps in half almost immediately and the rock barely lifts an inch. But Goro must have expected his actions—they’ve always been so in sync—and the split second is all he needs. His fingers grip the cracks in the ground and he pushes himself forward with all his might, barely able to drag his left leg out before the rock crashes down to the ground again.

“Goro!” Akira reaches for him, cupping his cheeks with his hands. “You’re okay. You’re _okay._ Thank god.”

There’s a look of pain on Goro’s face, but he still manages to give Akira an unimpressed look. “Nice landing,” he drawls.

Akira huffs out a shaky laugh, overwhelming relief surging up inside him. “Just a second,” he calls, slipping off his dress shirt. “I’m going to stop the bleeding.”

The temporary respite is broken by the feeling of absolute horror when he holds Goro’s left leg and realizes it is way too squishy for anything that’s supposed to have bones in it.

“A-a-are…” Akira gets out. He thinks he might be hyperventilating.

“Akira.” Goro’s voice brings him back to reality. Akira takes several deep breaths to try to calm himself. “You were going to stop the bleeding. Focus.”

Akira nods and returns to his task, trying not to notice the squelch that the skin makes whenever he comes in contact with it.

When he’s done, he slowly helps Goro up. Aside from his left leg, Goro seems relatively unharmed. Akira slings Goro’s arm over his shoulder to support his weight and then nods toward the stairs. “Ready to go?”

“I never want to see this place again,” Goro deadpans. Akira couldn’t agree more.

They’re close to the stairs when Goro taps on his shoulder urgently. Akira immediately stops in his tracks and shuffles the two of them back into the shadows, eyes watching intently.

There’s the outline of a man standing at the bottom of the stairs. Akira doesn’t miss the numerous guns strapped to his clothing. “Didn’t see the brat anywhere.” His voice is deep and dangerous as he speaks into a communication device. “Going to check the top floor now.”

Akira doesn’t want to know what will happen if the man finds them.

As quietly as possible, Akira maneuvers them to the secret staircase that Sojiro had shown him when they had come here together. Third tile underneath the painting in the back, he had said. Had to use it once while I was working for the government.

Akira hadn’t asked back then. But he sends a silent thank you to Sojiro and hopes that he and Goro can get out of here alive so he can thank him in person.

Thankfully, the staircase seems mostly intact. Akira takes a look at the plate on the wall—a shiny _Floor 32_ —and takes a deep breath. He squeezes Goro’s hand and tries not to notice how cold and clammy it is.

And then they begin to go down.

* * *

The staircase is barely large enough for two people to squeeze through at the same time, and Akira has to pause on every step to let Goro use him as a crutch. He doesn’t miss the way Goro starts breathing heavily after only one level down, a combination of the exertion of keeping his crushed leg from dragging across the ground along with the agonizing pain he must feel.

Akira fills the uncomfortable silence with conversation. It had never come easily to him in high school, and even now he still struggles sometimes to talk just for the sake of talking. But he never had a problem with it when it was with Goro. “Have you heard from our friends recently?”

“Which one?”

Akira turns his head away to hide a smile. It had taken so long for Goro to even agree to meet up with the rest of the Phantom Thieves again, and even longer for him to acknowledge that they had accepted him into their friend circle. The thought fills his heart with warmth.

“Last time I heard from Yusuke, he was in France.” The plate on the wall says that they’re on floor 30 now. “Something about painting the Eiffel Tower.”

“Ah yes, Kitagawa,” Goro says dryly. Akira never quite figured out what their relationship was, but before Yusuke left for his tour around the world, he and Goro used to go people watching in Shibuya every Saturday, so Goro must enjoy at least some parts of Yusuke’s nonsensical ramblings. “I met up with Futaba the other day. She said she came to visit you.”

Akira feels himself sweating. “Oh yeah?” he says shakily, hoping that Goro can’t suddenly feel the box in his pocket. “We were just chilling.”

“Hm,” Goro says, expression unreadable, but thankfully he changes the topic. “I talked to Sae-san recently as well. She said Makoto is planning to go to law school.”

“Does it make you change your mind about not going to grad school?” Akira waggles his eyebrows. “I would’ve been a good roommate.”

“Cat videos until 4 AM every morning and then frantic assignment cramming, followed by an overdose of coffee before the 8 AM class?” Goro snorts. “No thank you.”

Akira smiles. Even after knowing him for so long, even after four years of college featuring the most mundane and boring of conversations, he has never grown tired of talking to Goro Akechi. He remembers countless nights of staying up just to listen to Goro ramble about their current legal system, or the walks to class that consisted of nothing but debates about which cafe on campus sold the best bread.

They used to speak of Personas, Gods and superpowers. Now they talk about homework, rent and taxes. But even with this change, Akira still feels the same spark that he did when he first locked eyes with the teenage detective across the television studio.

Akira realized a long time ago that he would listen to Goro ramble about snail anatomy if it meant he had the privilege of staying by his side.

“Haru started a gardening club on the weekends,” Akira says easily. They have gotten into some sort of rhythm; Akira takes a step forward, waits for Goro to hop down, and then they repeat the process. To his credit, Goro seems to have adapted to his injury well. “She says that it’s mostly old grandmas, but she’s enjoying it a lot. Oh, and she asked me to invite you next—”

“Akira!” Goro yells directly in his ear. Akira jolts, and it seems that some of his old Phantom Thieves senses are still ingrained into his muscles, because he manages to dodge out of the way right as the swish of something sharp nearly nicks his head.

However, he stumbles and trips over his own feet. There’s the feeling of something sliding off his shoulder, an aborted grunt, and he whirls around just in time to see Goro tethering on the edge of the stairs, arms flailing wildly trying to regain balance.

Out of instinct, Goro puts his left leg down to steady himself, and then lets out an agonizing scream that Akira has not heard ever since that terrible day in the engine room.

And then he’s falling.

He hits the bottom of the stairs with a loud thud and collapses in an unmovable heap of limbs. “Goro!” Akira yells, but then a man jumps in front of him, a leery smile on his face as he brandishes a knife. He’s wearing similar clothing to the man they saw back in the restaurant.

Akira’s mind moves to instinctively dodge the incoming attack but his body—tempered by sleepless nights and hours hunched over in the library—does not obey, stumbling into his own limbs and crashing into the wall behind him. The man does not give him any chance to recoup, thrusting his knife forward aimed straight at Akira’s collar.

Akira barely manages to get a hand up to stop the blade from going straight through his neck.

There’s a second of silence when the knife goes straight through his palm, and he and the attacker both turn to look at it.

And then pain that he’s never felt before explodes in his hand.

He screams, jerking his hand back, but that only serves to further wedge the knife into his palm. It hurts. It hurts so much. Even dying in the Metaverse hadn’t hurt this much, a quick revival spell healing him up before he even registered the pain.

But this. This feels like someone reaching into his hand and pulling his bones apart one by one, crushing them into dust. It feels like nails being skewered into his skin, drilling holes into each of his tendons until they cracked under the pressure. It feels like—

Dimly, he recognizes that the assailant is peeking over the top of the stairs at the crumpled heap at the bottom. “Nasty little bitch,” the man snarls. “How dare you live your life happily when Shido is in jail?” He starts down the stairs toward Goro.

_Goro._

Akira feels the fog in his brain clear away and he rears his leg back. He remembers one summer afternoon a couple years ago, the hot sun bearing down as he laid flat on his back, staring up at Makoto’s disapproving expression.

_“One second,” he wheezed out, grasping for his water bottle. “I’ll get back up. Just… just need to rest a bit.”_

_“We’ve barely been going for five minutes,” Makoto said, putting her hands on her hips. “Take this seriously, please.”_

_“I am, I am.” Akira sat up, giving her an easy smile. “But I’ve been hunched over a laptop all week, so I’m a little out of shape.”_

_“Sis said that Goro-kun has been bouldering. You should go with him,” Makoto said absentmindedly. “I know we’re all planning to live quiet and ordinary lives from now on, but it wouldn’t help to be prepared. You’re not Joker anymore.”_

_Plastering a smile on his face to hide how deep her words drove in, Akira nodded. “Alright then. Teach me how to defend myself.”_

_Go for the groin_ , he hears Makoto’s voice echo in his head. His foot makes contact against the man’s pelvis and he yells, stumbling backward. _Next, use your elbows._ Akira follows through and slams his elbow into the man’s face.

It does not give the same satisfying crunch that it used to back in the Metaverse. In fact, Akira doubts that he actually hit hard enough to break any bones. But the force of the hit still sends the man flying backwards, and then he tumbles down the stairs head first.

Akira quickly scrambles over and breathes a sign of relief when he sees that the man has seemingly knocked his head against the wall and passed out. Next to him is Goro, body still laying in the same position that Akira had dropped him in, a small river of blood trailing down his forehead.

“Goro!” Akira rushes down the stairs. The knife is still sticking in his hand, but he can’t feel it anymore. In fact, he doesn’t think he can feel most of his fingers. He uses his other hand to reach for his boyfriend, feeling for a pulse and gasping in relief when the faint thrumming of a heartbeat meets his fingers. “Goro, are you okay?”

With a slight groan, Goro opens his eyes. They look a little unfocused. “Y-yeah…” he says shakily. Akira helps him sit up. “What happened?”

“I took care of him.” The man appears to still be alive, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. But with the building tumbling down around them, Akira doesn’t think he’ll be alive for much longer, and he doesn’t feel any inclination to help him either.

Goro’s eyes barely focus on the man’s still body before sliding away. He’s probably concussed. Akira grimaces and helps him to his feet, a little more difficult because of the knife embedded in his palm. They still have so far to go. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to carry Goro with an injured hand if he passes out.

Goro’s eyes are sliding everywhere, but they surprisingly come back into focus when they notice Akira’s palm. “W-what?” he stares down at the knife. “Akira. Your _hand_ —”

“It’s fine. Can’t take it out or it’ll bleed out,” Akira says shortly.

“It’s not fine,” Goro argues back. He’s still leaning heavily against Akira’s side, but Akira is grateful to see that he seems to have shaken off that dizzy trance that he had been in earlier. “What if it gets infected?”

Akira really does not want to talk about his hand anymore. Every time he looks down at it, he feels an urge to vomit rising rapidly in his throat. “Goro,” he says. “The guy mentioned Shido.”

There is silence as they arrive on the 28th floor. He cannot feel his right hand at all. But it’s okay; he can protect Goro with just his left.

“I thought so,” Goro says finally. “The guy back up in the restaurant. I thought I recognized him, but I couldn’t remember from where. It was when I went to meet with Shido. They must be upset that I’m still alive while he’s rotting in jail. They might have bombed the building as well because they knew I’d be here.”

“It’s not your fault,” Akira cuts in because he knows what’s coming next. “Shido got what he deserved, and you’ve already paid so much for his sins. None of this is your fault.”

Goro’s lips tighten into a straight line, but he knows that debating this point with Akira is fruitless. The plate glints _Floor 27_ , and the journey continues.

* * *

The building starts rumbling when they reach floor 23, and there’s an uneasy feeling welling up inside him that the ceiling is going to collapse. Healthwise they’re still fine, or as fine as they can be with two horribly disfigured limbs and one concussion between them.

Goro, for his part, seems to be doing his best to try to stay awake. He’s finished ranting about the annoying woman in front of him at Starbucks the other day and has now moved onto complaining about the argument he and Futaba had about Featherman on the phone a week ago, to Akira’s amusement.

He’s opening his mouth to say something when a loud rumble echoes throughout the building. And the sound of something crumbling.

It’s hard to go fast when Goro is leaning his entire weight against him. But they somehow manage to wobble their way down three floors as fast as possible and almost collide with a man with several guns strapped to his legs.

“You—!” The man starts, but Akira shoves him aside and almost drags Goro down that flight of stairs. The rumbling is getting louder, and he’s worried about the ceiling collapsing down on them, or the floor disappearing underneath them, or both.

 _If only he had his hook shot…_ Akira shakes his head. Better not think about that for now.

He hears the man yell behind them, presumably coming face to face with the incoming rubble. He does not see the man reach down to his holster, does not see him pull the trigger in a final stand before the rocks tumble down and crush him against the wall.

Akira hears the sound of a gunshot. But then Goro’s slamming into him, letting out an aborted noise, knocking him off balance, and the two tumble down several flights of stairs. Akira thrusts out his hands to try to break his fall and protect Goro’s head at the same time and accidentally puts most of his weight on his injured right hand.

The pain is so intense he blacks out before they hit the bottom.

When he comes to, Goro is breathing heavily and trying his best to get them both upright again. The sound of the tumbling rubble has stopped, and he’s glad to see that the floor underneath them still seems intact.

Akira helps them both up. Other than the nasty looking bruise on his forehead and his right hand being almost concerningly cold, they seem to have somehow escaped that situation without too many injuries. “Are you okay?” he asks, just to be sure.

“F-fine.” Goro’s voice is shaky. Akira hopes his dress shirt bandage is still secured properly around Goro’s leg, but at this point it would cause more harm than good to put him down to check. “L-let’s keep g-going.”

“You saved me,” Akira says as they continue to wobble down the stairs. The plate says _Floor 16_. They finally passed the midway point. “You pushed me out of the way of the gunshot, right? Thanks.”

“Y-you owe me s-sushi,” Goro shoots back. “N-not the conveyer belt t-type.”

Akira huffs out a laugh, about to call him stingy since Goro makes so much more than he does. But then they run into a large, burly man blocking the stairs down to floor 15.

The man leers at them. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

“T-Takahashi-san,” Goro grits out.

Takahashi’s eyes pivot over. “Ah, the little pampered prince. Looking a little beat up, aren’t you? And you even dragged your whore into this mess.”

Takahashi is equipped with too many weapons for him to charge in, even if he wasn’t injured. And unlike the assailant from before, he’s taking them seriously. There’s a confident glint in his eyes, but Akira can tell from his posture that he made sure to cover all his weak spots too.

“W-what do you want?” Goro’s voice is calm, but there’s unbridled anger simmering in his eyes.

They won’t be able to outrun him if they go back up—and where would they even go? There aren’t any other exits near them. There are small rocks lining the ground; maybe if he throws one hard enough he’ll be able to knock Takahashi out?

“You dead, of course.” Takahashi licks his lips. His hands trail down to his coat, where Akira can see the outline of a gun. “Goodbye.”

But how will he bend down and grab one—while balancing Goro—before Takahashi notices them? There are small fires flicking on the ground and if he grabs the wrong one, he could burn his hand—

Fires.

Futaba’s words echo in his mind.

There’s the sound of a trigger clicking, and then Akira is moving before he even realizes. He jams his hand into his pocket and pries apart the box and wraps his fingers around the ring. The ring, which had cost him almost half a year’s worth of saving. The ring, which was supposed to represent the beautiful and hopeful future that he and Goro would share together.

The ring, which would be wasted on this piece of shit.

But Akira doesn’t care. He would give anything to let Goro live.

He flings the ring as hard as he can at the small fire right behind Takahashi. Goro makes a sound of surprise when he sees it flying through the air, no doubt realizing what it is. But then the ring drops into the fire and explodes, the flames flickering wildly in the air before latching onto the cloth of Takahashi’s pants.

The man hollers, his previous plan of murder forgotten as he attempts to put out the fire. But Akira doesn’t give him a chance to. He shoves the man as hard as he can and Takahashi falls face first into the flames and _screams_.

Akira drags Goro down the stairs and tries not to notice the pained whimpers, the smell of burning flesh, and the utter lack of remorse in his heart.

They’re on floor 14 when Goro finally speaks. “A-Akira,” he says. His voice sounds more slurred than before. “T-that was—”

Akira doesn’t know if he wants to ask about the murder or the marriage ring. “We can talk about it later,” he reassures him. “Save your energy for now, okay?”

Goro doesn’t respond, and Akira takes it as a confirmation as they continue heading down.

* * *

“Other than sushi, is there anything else you want to do?” Akira asks. They just passed floor 10, and he can feel his spirits lifting already. They’re almost there. They’re almost to safety. “I know Sumire wanted to get food with us when she gets back. It’s been awhile since we last saw each other.”

Akira smiles fondly at the memory of their last reunion. The Phantom Thieves, all piled into Leblanc again like old times. He remembers Sojiro standing in the kitchen, pretending not to eavesdrop but smiling whenever one of them made a funny joke. He remembers Haru and Yusuke sitting at the counter, the latter making grandiose gestures as he tried to explain the Sayuri while the former nodded and giggled politely.

He remembers Goro sitting in between Ryuji and Ann as they debated something dumb like which vending machine in Tokyo sold the best drinks. It was a sight that five years ago he never thought he’d be able to see.

“I know Haru was planning to visit soon too.” _For the wedding_ , he doesn’t say. Goro has not given him any response yet, and as much as Akira knows that now is hardly the time to demand an answer—and it’s not as if Akira actually proposed or anything—he can’t help but feel a little nervous that he read Goro wrong.

What if Goro snuggled into the arms of all his past boyfriends before he could fall asleep? What if Goro made midnight McDonalds runs with all his past boyfriends? What if Goro stayed up and listened patiently to all his past boyfriends vent about dumb, mundane problems?

What if Goro looked at all his past boyfriends the same way he looked at Akira?

He can’t stand it. He might not be special to the world anymore. But as long as he was special to Goro Akechi, then that’s enough for him.

“I think I finally understand how Morgana can sleep so much,” Akira continues. “I feel like I’m going to pass out for more than 24 hours after this. And then after that, I want to get crepes at that place Ann recommended to us. You know, the one that has a million calories and makes you feel gross after eating it, but it’s so good?”

There’s no answer. In fact, Akira’s been so busy rambling to fill the silence that he didn’t realize he hasn’t heard Goro’s voice in a while. “Goro?”

He twists around to look at his boyfriend, but that turns out to be a bad idea. His legs get tangled with Goro’s, and then the two of them bump heads and collapse to the ground in a massive heap.

“Ow, sorry.” Akira sits up, rubbing his forehead. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—”

Akira stops and stares.

There’s a red circle of blood on Goro’s suit. And in the middle of it, there’s a hole that’s the perfect size for a bullet.

Akira’s mind whirls back to the scene a couple floors up, though it feels like years ago by this point. The way the gunshot had rang out, the way Goro had collided into him, the aborted whimper he had let out, all signs of someone trying to keep quiet after being shot.

Why hadn’t he _noticed_?

Akira’s in the middle of pressing down against the wound, though thankfully the bleeding seems to have almost stopped, when another unwanted memory flashes in his brain. The image of a beautiful restaurant, the sound of explosions, the sight of Goro reaching for him and _pushing him out of the way before the rubble collapsed on his leg—_

Akira feels sick.

How much of Goro’s broken body is he responsible for? Goro has saved him time and time again even at the cost of his own wellbeing, and what has Akira done?

Nothing, he realizes miserably. He’s been nothing but a nuisance. If things had gone as planned, if Akira was the one to take the rubble to the leg, then he’s sure Goro would’ve gotten them out of here already. Goro, who is so smart and resourceful. Goro, who is quick to think on his feet and always has a solution. Compared to him, Akira’s just…

Akira’s just _normal_.

He used to believe that the one year in the Metaverse helped improve his confidence, made him more comfortable with himself. But now he realizes that it’s the exact opposite. His foray into superpowers and Personas made him realize how truly plain and useless he is. How, without the aid of God, he’s always relying on others to save him.

He really, truly, is nothing.

The sound of a loud crack echoes across the room. It takes Akira a moment to realize that it came from Goro, and another to realize that his cheek is stinging. He stares, wide-eyed, as he slowly brings his good hand up to his cheek. It hurts.

Goro’s struggling to his knees, a familiar fire burning in his eyes. Despite the paleness of his skin, his voice is clearer than it’s been in a while. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Akira blinks dumbly at him. “What?”

“I know that look on your face. You’ve given up. I saw the same thing on that shitty February night years ago, and I never thought I’d see it ever again.” He grasps the front of Akira’s jacket, but his fingers are trembling too much to form a proper grip. “We’ve made it this far already. Now _get up,_ Akira.”

Akira nods and hoists them both up. Every time Goro winces—whether it’s because of his crushed leg, or the gunshot in his back, or some other injury that he doesn’t even know about—Akira feels the guilt drive even deeper into him.

“I’ve tried to die twice since I’ve met you,” Goro says softly when Akira slings his arm back over his shoulder. “You’ve never let me. You always bulldozed in and imposed your sense of justice even when I was unwilling to listen. What gives you the _right_ to turn around and give up like that?”

“I wasn’t giving up,” Akira mutters. “I was just…”

“Thinking about how weak you are?” Goro jeers, and Akira flinches. He forgot how well his boyfriend can read him. “About how none of this would have happened if only you still had the Metaverse?”

Akira doesn’t respond.

“I never could see myself living past 19 before,” Goro says. “And tonight, when that rock fell on my leg, I couldn’t see myself living past sunrise. But you always force your way in and prove me wrong.” He grips Akira’s shoulder tightly. “I’m alive right now not because of Joker, but because of _you_ , Akira.”

Akira’s started crying sometime during Goro’s speech, the tears flowing down his face in large droplets. “Goro—”

“I’m not done yet. I accept.” It takes a while for Akira to realize what he means, and then his mouth drops open. “This has to be one of the worst marriage proposals in history. But I suppose I’ll let it slide.” His voice drops to a surly whisper. “You did kill a man for me, after all.”

An ugly sound escapes Akira’s mouth. “Goro,” he says fervently. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I know,” Goro says smugly. “And also, I want another proposal. This one was terrible.”

“Anything,” Akira agrees easily, eyeing the _Floor 4_ plate on the wall as they turn the corner. “I might need some help with the ring, though. That thing cost a lot.”

Goro waves him off. “I don’t need a ring. Just write me a calling card next time or something similar. I’m sure your sentimentality infested brain will be able to think of something.”

“No, that’s cheesy,” Akira protests half-heartedly.

“But you did consider it at one point, didn’t you?”

“…yeah.”

* * *

They tumble to the bottom floor from the secret staircase. They’re immediately swarmed by firefighters and medical professionals, none of whom had known of the existence of the escape route or the struggle of the two boys as they made their way down.

Goro is immediately loaded onto a stretcher. There’s so much red staining his suit, and Akira’s dress shirt is still tied tightly around his leg.

Akira really hopes this isn’t the last time he sees his boyfriend alive.

“A… Akira,” he hears Goro call out. His eyes are half lidded and he looks seconds away from passing out. “I… I didn’t get to say it the first two times. But thank you… for saving my life.”

Goro gets rolled away right after, leaving Akira to sob to himself quietly into the night sky.

None of his friends are here, which isn’t a surprise. They all live busy lives and a lot of them don’t live anywhere near here. He doubts the news of a burning building would have caused them much alarm, especially since the media doesn’t seem to have caught wind of the fact that this was all put together in an attempt to assassinate one civilian.

But he wishes that someone was here. Anyone. So he doesn’t have to deal with the ugly, rampant thoughts in his brain that keep telling him that Goro is going to die despite everything.

There’s the sound of boots clicking as a doctor stops in front of him, presumably to check out the knife still stuck in his hand. “Hey, kid.”

Akira would recognize that voice anywhere. “Takemi?”

“You can’t stop getting in trouble, can you?” She glances down at his hand, turning it around gently. “You might not be able to use that again.”

“I don’t care,” Akira says fervently. “As long as Goro is okay, I don’t _care_ —”

“Not making any promises, but he’ll probably be fine. Kid’s a fighter,” Takemi says. Her tone is professional and detached, but Akira can hear the underlying kindness and worry in her voice. “You got him to help before things got critical.”

Akira lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank god,” he mutters. “Thank god, thank _god—_ ”

“Before the paramedics take you away,” Takemi says, stepping closer. Two thin but strong arms wrap around him. “Akira, you did a good job getting both of you out alive. I’m really proud of you.”

Akira clutches onto her jacket like a lifeline. And then the floodgates open, and he’s sobbing loudly into the front of her coat. She doesn’t mention the mess that he’s making and just continues to pat his back as he wails into the night sky.

It has been forty five minutes since the first explosion, though it feels like much longer to all the people involved. It will be hours before the building is stabilized, and even longer before authorities can confirm the dozens of victims in the building. Half of them are innocent civilians who could not escape in time. The other half are the remains of Shido’s old henchmen.

Thanks to the efforts of Akira Kurusu, Goro Akechi lives to see another sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in October and ngl I was trying to edit it last week and I literally didn't remember writing any of this haha so it was a nice surprise.  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/nagittos)
> 
> BIG THANK YOU to [@confuzedart for drawing a postfic scene!!](https://twitter.com/confuzedart/status/1344273301229727745?s=21)


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